Читать книгу The Traitor's Daughter - Joanna Makepeace - Страница 8

They travelled by easy stages through the lovely Welsh countryside, through Carmarthen, Landovery and Buith Wells, and stayed at last at an inn in Leominster. The weather stayed fine. The rain, which had fallen before their arrival in Wales, had laid the dust and the roads were reasonably comfortable as a result, neither too miry or too dusty and hard ridged.

As on the stops they had made previously, the inn Sir Rhys had chosen was comfortable and clean without being luxurious or fashionable. Philippa had had no opportunity to speak with Peter Fairley privately during the journey. Though they had ridden side by side, she was conscious that Sir Rhys, riding with her mother only some yards ahead of her, could hear anything they had to say and, therefore, she had had to talk of everyday things, the comforts or disadvantages of the inns they stayed at, the beauty of the scenery, or the weather. At all times, whether he was looking at them or not, Philippa was aware that she and Peter were under close scrutiny and it irked her.

At Leominster she had an excuse at last to follow Peter down to the stables, hoping to find him alone. Her little Welsh cob, of whom she had grown very fond, was limping just a little by the time they arrived and she expressed a desire to go and ask Peter to discover, if he could, the reason and pronounce his opinion on whether she were well enough to proceed next day. Sir Rhys was absent from the eating room for the moment and Philippa’s mother nodded her agreement.

Philippa was fortunate to find Peter alone and he was, as she entered the stable, examining the cob’s right fore hoof.

He looked up, smiling, as he saw Philippa. “She has gathered a small stone. It isn’t serious. I’m removing it now.”

“Will she be able to carry me tomorrow? I don’t want to further lame her.”

“Yes, my lady, she will be fine when she’s rested.”

Philippa approached him and looked back to see that no one was near the opened doorway.

“I’ve been anxious to speak with you alone since we left Milford Haven.”

He nodded. “It has proved difficult. I would have preferred to have closer access to your mother, also, but it seemed unwise.”

“Peter, do you think we are in danger from this man?”

“Sir Rhys? I doubt it, though he is the King’s man. Had he any intention of betraying us he would have done so before now.”

“Yet he could involve my grandparents in the crime of harbouring us if we are discovered there after we have actually settled in at Gretton. Should we not try to part from his surveillance after we leave Ludlow and, perhaps, postpone our arrival at Gretton?”

Peter scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Neither you nor your mother are proscribed traitors. There can be no real reason why you should not visit. I, on the other hand, could find myself arrested both for having fought at Redmoor and at Stoke and for being in your father’s service and close confidence. However,” he said, smiling. “I do not believe that Sir Rhys Griffith thinks I am important enough for him to concern himself about my doings.”

“I am not so sure of that,” Philippa replied coolly.

He glanced at her quickly. “Oh?”

“He thinks you are my lover or that you aspire to be.”

Peter’s expression of alarm was so comical that Philippa burst out laughing and she quickly explained to him what had occurred when she had attempted to slip out on that first night in Pembroke to see him.

“I hope you disabused him of that idea. Your mother would be scandalised and as for your father’s reaction to such news—” He broke off, horrified.

Teasingly she said, “Don’t you find me attractive, Peter?”

His brown eyes surveyed her somewhat myopically. “You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, Lady Philippa, barring your mother when she was the age you are now, but I would never betray your father’s trust, you know that. I love you as a…” he sought blindly for words “…as a beloved sister perhaps. I would gladly die for you if there were need, but—”

“You do not love me in the way the troubadors sing of. I understand,” she said blithely, “and that is just as well for I, too, regard you as a dear, elder brother.” She frowned, considering. “Then you do not think we should try to escape Sir Rhys?”

He sighed. “It would prove impossible. If he should decide to call out a search for us, all roads to any coast would be blocked.”

She bit her lip uncertainly. “Then we can do nothing?”

A cool voice from the doorway answered her with another question. “What is it you wish to do, Lady Philippa?”

She turned guiltily to face Sir Rhys as he entered, his cold gaze passing from her to Peter.

“We were conferring about my mount, sir,” she retorted, staring back at him defiantly. “You may have noticed she was limping when we arrived and Peter tells me she has picked up a loose stone which he has removed. I thought we might require the services of a smith.”

“Ah.” He did not take his gaze from her for moments and then turned to Peter. “Will she be fit to carry your mistress tomorrow, think you?”

“Oh, yes, Sir Rhys, there should be no difficulty about completing our journey.”

“Good. We do not wish for any delay as I am sure your grandmother will be anxious to see you, Lady Philippa. Now, if you will come at once, supper will soon be served and your mother will wish you to join her.”

He held out his hand commandingly and she was forced to take it and allow him to lead her from the stable after a murmured “thank you” to Peter.

Outside she snatched her hand from his grasp and rasped. “I wish you would not insist on spying on me when I am with Peter. I have told you before, he is my father’s trusted squire and companion and nothing more to me than a friend.”

He regarded her quizzically. “Since you give me your word on that, Lady Philippa, I must believe you, but I do regard it as my duty to keep you safe from…” he paused, thoughtfully eyeing her speculatively “…all harm.”

She flounced ahead of him into the inn and hastily went to join her mother at the table. Lady Wroxeter was puzzled by the strange gleam she saw reflected in her daughter’s eye. She had known throughout the journey that Philippa had strongly resented their need to accede to Sir Rhys Griffith’s desire to escort them to Gretton, but tonight she thought something further had passed between them. She sighed inwardly but said nothing. This problem would soon resolve itself. Tomorrow they would arrive at Gretton and she doubted if they would see more of their protector. Her father had written on several occasions that his neighbours were inclined to shun him, since he was found to be under the displeasure of the King and her parents had become virtually isolated on their own manor.

Philippa was particularly interested in the small market town of Ludlow next day as they rode in. This was their nearest town and her mother knew it well. Unlike Milford Haven, it seemed relatively clean and peaceful in the afternoon sun since today there was no market and no vociferous traders. Most of the shops were closed apparently over the dinner hour and there was a sleepy air about the place, dominated as it was by the former Yorkist stronghold of Ludlow Castle. She glanced at the grim walls curiously as they passed through. Here it was that Edward, the elder of the two Yorkist princes, had finally ridden out to meet his uncle, Richard, on his momentous journey to London to be crowned. It had never happened. He and his brothers and sisters had been declared illegitimate, the two boys placed in the royal apartments of the Tower of London from which they had mysteriously disappeared. She thought how furiously angry her father had been to learn only days ago that a proclamation had been made that Sir James Tyrell, recently executed, had confessed to their murder on the instructions of their uncle. She bit her lip uncertainly and cast a glance at her mother, who had turned in the saddle, finding her also tight-lipped. Did her mother believe the slanderous tale, despite her father’s avowals that the confession was a lie which had either been forced from Sir James while in Tudor hands or fabricated after his death, a lie which could not be denied? Sir Rhys had reined in his mount in order to allow the two ladies to view the castle. Philippa cast him a venomous glance. Undoubtedly Sir Rhys believed it.

As they left the town Philippa was impatient to reach their home manor, but her anticipated pleasure was shadowed by the fear that they might not find her grandfather alive.

Sir Rhys gestured her forward as they entered her grandfather’s lands so that the two women could be together. Philippa saw that her mother’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and she reined in close and, reaching out, took her gloved hand in her own encouragingly.

“We have come as soon as we could, ma mère, I am sure we shall be in time to—” She broke off, too emotionally choked to continue.

Sir Rhys said quietly, “I saw your grandfather just before I left for Milford Haven. I was able to conduct some business for him there. He was incapacitated but able to talk and was as well as could be expected. Your grandmother informed me that the physicians had told her they had no reason to fear the worst.”

Lady Wroxeter nodded, grateful for his reassurance. So he did visit her parents, apparently, undeterred by his neighbours’ unpopularity. Her mother must have had cause to be grateful to him during those recent difficult and anxiety-ridden weeks.

Philippa was filled with surprised delight when she caught her first sight of Gretton Manor. The evening sunlight caught the mellow building with its strong rays. The undercroft was stone built, with an upper storey of timber and plaster lath painted yellow which showed to advantage against the dark-stained oak beams. The manor house itself was approached through a gatehouse arch which at one time had housed a guard room but, probably due to the settled times and King Henry’s proscriptions against the keeping of retainers, was now disused. From the front it was not possible to see the outbuildings and stables but, as the small party approached, grooms ran quickly forward to take the lead reins of their horses. One gabbled to Sir Rhys in Welsh, which he answered fluently. Any hopes Philippa might have had that he would leave them now, having delivered them safely home, were dispelled as both Sir Rhys’s horse and his squire’s were led off with their own. Peter Fairley lifted her down and she turned, a little flustered, to see a woman standing upon the top step leading to the hall to greet them. She came down immediately the moment she recognised the new arrivals. Cressida, who had been assisted to dismount by Sir Rhys, ran to her with a little choking cry of mingled delight and anxiety. Philippa could see little of her grandmother’s features as her head was bent over the shoulders of her weeping daughter. She could just distinguish that Lady Gretton was of no great height, like her daughter and grandchild, and was plumply rounded in build.

Philippa came hesitantly towards the two and just caught the whispered questions each gave to the other.

“Father, is he…?”

“Well enough, child, and very anxious to greet you, but not sufficiently recovered to come from the hall yet.”

Lady Gretton had posed her question even more softly.

“Martyn, is he safe?”

Philippa’s mother’s answer was even softer, barely whispered. “He was safe in Malines and well when we left him a sennight ago.”

Lady Gretton gave a little satisfied sigh. “Good. It was unsafe for him to venture with you. Times are troubled here, even yet.”

She looked up and held her arms wide for Philippa to run into them. “Come, child. You will never know how long we have waited to have a sight of you.”

Philippa was enveloped in a motherly embrace, scenting the fresh, country fragrances of rosemary and lavender. She was hugged so tightly she could hardly breathe and withdrew finally a little breathless, half-laughing and half-crying in the sudden emotion of greeting.

Now she could see that Mildred Gretton was indeed short and plumply attractive still in late middle age, but with nothing about her of her daughter and granddaughter’s famed ethereal beauty. Her pleasant features were relatively unlined except for the little crinkles around her round, dark eyes, which betokened good humour. She was dressed in a dark green silk gown, somewhat outdated but of excellent quality, and she wore a small tight-fitting linen cap, but had not yet adopted the new French fashion of attached velvet veil Philippa had seen worn at the English court.

Still holding her grandchild by one arm, she turned smilingly to Sir Rhys Griffith.

“Rhys, how good to see you here, and in the company of my loved ones. As always you are very welcome to Gretton. Daniel will be so pleased to see you.”

He bowed courteously. “Thank you, Mildred, but I will not stay. I have business to conclude at home and you both will wish to have this time with your loved ones alone. I found them on the harbour at Milford Haven and made it my business to see them safe to Gretton. How is Sir Daniel?”

“As you saw him a week ago, Rhys. He frets that he cannot yet walk well or sit a horse. He sleeps below stairs as getting him above to our bedchamber has proven irksome, but the physician has hopes that he will soon be able to proceed further afield with the aid of a stick.”

Philippa gazed from her grandmother to Sir Rhys. So, they were obviously on good terms, which she found puzzling. She could but hope that Sir Rhys would honour his acceptance of their need for privacy and stay away from Gretton for some time. He was bidding farewell to her mother and she came to herself with a sudden start as he came to her side and held out his hand.

“I must make my excuses, Lady Philippa. I am delighted to hear that you will find your grandfather in good health considering his infirmities. I shall call on you all soon to assure myself that you want for nothing.”

She surrendered her hand a trifle unwillingly and murmured a polite word of gratitude for his care of them during the journey and he bent and kissed her palm. She found herself doubtfully regarding his retreating back as he left with his squire to move to the stable to retrieve his mount after it had been fed and watered. Her feelings were strangely mixed and bewildering, as if she was unsure when or if their paths would cross again and whether that would please or alarm her.

She followed her mother and grandmother up the entrance steps, through the screen doors and into the manor’s hall. A man sat near a fire, which was burning on the side hearth despite it being mid-summer, and rose with difficulty at their entrance, leaning hard on a sturdy oaken stick. An elderly woman standing behind the chair clucked at him warningly as Cressida ran to him and he rocked on his feet with the suddenness of her fierce embrace.

“Now, master, be careful. Mistress Cressida, mind your father’s condition.” Her admonition was unheeded as the two, locked together in the first joy of their meeting, were unconscious of the presence of any other within the hall. Philippa stood back a little shyly as, finally, tears streaming down her cheeks, her mother, helped by the elderly attendant, assisted her father back into his chair. Lady Gretton stood some little distance away, holding her granddaughter tightly by her hand. At last Cressida turned and stood aside a little from the seated figure, who was now leaning forward eagerly to view the newcomer.

“And here, Father, is Philippa. Come, child, and kiss your grandpère.”

Philippa, released by her grandmother, came forward and dropped to her knees before the old man. She saw that despite his illness his large, big-boned form had not withered. He had a shock of white hair reaching in curls to his shoulders and his broad, open countenance was still weatherbeaten as if, previous to the stroke which had laid him low, he had enjoyed an active, outdoor life. Like her mother, there were tears upon his cheeks and he bent and took Philippa’s face between his two large hands, scrutinising her carefully, then he looked up at his daughter and wife who had come closer to the chair, and smiled.

“I had the most beautiful daughter in England and this, her child, and Wroxeter’s, looks like being as lovely, and I can see spirit here in her eyes and courage. You have your mother’s looks, child, but I think there is something of your father’s courage and intelligence in the steadiness of your gaze and the intentness of your concern, aye, and stubbornness in the tilt of your chin, too.” He looked upwards to the elderly attendant who was standing behind his chair. “Don’t you agree, Alice? She’s the child of both of them right enough.”

The woman gave a little snort and stared down at Philippa, who returned her scrutiny curiously.

Her grandfather chuckled. “This is Alice, your mother’s nurse and your grandmother’s maid now, aye, and, over these last weeks, my nurse too, though I could wish her in purgatory some days when she bothers me with her strictures.”

“For your own good and you know it,” the woman scolded. “The doctor says you’ll do well enough if you take your time, but you will rush to do things.” Her expression was kindly, though her voice somewhat harsh, and she went scarlet with pleasure as Cressida seized her by the shoulders and planted a hearty kiss upon her lined cheek. She hugged her former charge, grinning at Philippa over Lady Wroxeter’s shoulder.